


reaching a fever pitch

by youspeakmysoul



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Undercover, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-15 20:51:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7238029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youspeakmysoul/pseuds/youspeakmysoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one touched him before Phryne Fisher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	reaching a fever pitch

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to believe this took place between 3x02 and 3x03 because I don't like the idea of their first kiss being right before she leaves but this is more likely AU during season 3 and really just mindless fluff. Enjoy! Title is from _Adele - Rolling in the Deep._

No one touched him before Phryne Fisher, not for a long time and certainly not deliberately in any case. What with Rosie staying at her sisters for far longer than he cared to admit, physical touch no longer became a necessity, at times even an inconvenience.

It was quite clear Miss Fisher didn’t _do_ personal space. From the very beginning of their partnership she always stayed a little too close, as though anything different hadn’t even crossed her mind. It probably hadn’t.

The first time she touched him, a gentle but considered brush of fingers against the inside of his wrist, he started and yanked his hand away quickly as though burned. Of course she handled his reaction with her usual aplomb but he could feel her questioning glance as he struggled not to flush under the scrutiny. He could tell he had piqued her curiosity yet thankfully, or not he didn’t know, she didn’t stop touching him.

A warm pressure of her hand on his knee to steady herself as she crouched down to look at a body, her chest pressed close to his back to read something over his shoulder. It appeared to be a game to her at first, how far she could push until they softened in to easy, casual touches that one would equate with a lover. He couldn’t help but be intensely aware of and remember each touch.

Once he grows accustomed to her touches, they soon become a necessity, almost like a phantom limb he never knew existed. He can’t help but touch her in return, most instances without himself even realising. His hands seem powerless to resist touching her, a palm rested at the base of her spine, fingertips brushing her elbow in passing.

At times it infuriates him that she has so much control over him. She’s most aware of her natural effect on people but thankfully less attuned to just how much he would do for her if she asked. He can only imagine that’s the reason he’s currently being led in to one of one Melbourne’s most exclusive jazz clubs with the women in question on his arm. Her hand is curled around his bicep tucked against his ribs, can feel the heat through his thin suit jacket.

The club is dark, or intimately lit is how Miss Fisher described it and he can hear the distinct notes of a saxophone as the rest of the voices and chatter echo in to the background. His fingers are laced with hers as she expertly weaves them through the couples using every piece of floor as a dance floor, can’t resist moving her body subtly in time to the music, very much in her element.   

He allows her to guide him to a booth pressed against the back wall and can’t ignore how every pair of eyes follow her to their seat. Not that she doesn’t draw attention from every room she enters. Pressed closer to his side than strictly necessary, she unwraps the stole wrap from her shoulders slowly and he feels the brush of bare skin. He can’t help but stare at how dangerously low her dress dips in the front, the knotted silk scarf that falls in the valley of her chest only draws his eyes. He signals a passing waiter for two whiskeys, suddenly realising how out of his depth he is.

He spots their suspect, Timothy Jones in a neighbouring booth surrounded by pretty girls. Jones, who recently acquired total rights of a very lucrative shipping company following the suspicious death of his uncle, seems hell bent on making a show of the cash he’s willing to burn. They’re struggling to piece together the full extent of his involvement in the case but Miss Fisher in convinced he’s central and thus her suggestion of following him tonight.

“Put your arm around me,” she whispers, almost commands as she drapes her arm around his neck. Her fingertips start drumming lightly almost absentmindedly against his pulse and he follows her suggestion, as though he has much of a choice. He has no idea what they are doing here but as he’s currently out of alternatives this appears to be the only option. Jones had been helpful to the investigation, too helpful in Miss Fisher’s opinion but Jack agreed there had been something off about the man.  

 “You know Jack, it would be better if you looked like you wanted to be here.” Her mouth is pressed to his ear and his hand tightens over the curve of her hip as he tries to prevent himself from leaning in to her. He knows she’s right and forces himself to relax, which is more difficult that it sounds with her body pressed against his. He empties his tumbler quickly placing it on the table as she shifts easily to get a better view of Jones at the next table and before he realises it she’s almost seated in his lap. He tenses suddenly as one of her hands squeeze his thigh, his _upper thigh_ and he hisses “Phryne.”

She grins impishly in response and he imagines she’s enjoying this a little too much. She’s close enough he can smell the perfume she’s dabbled along her neck and in the hollow of her collarbones. His senses are so overwhelmed with her that he can only stare at her for a mere moment, watches as she trails Jones making a move towards the bar before something that looks a lot like fear creeps in to her eyes. He tries to move as if to turn and follow her gaze just as her hand grips his collar and he barely makes out the word “ _Sorry_ ” before her lips slam against his.

His brain stops working for split second and he stills briefly before he returns the kiss fervently, her lips parting and his tongue sweeping fiercely in to her mouth as he reverses their position and the force pushes her back in to the cushioned booth. Her hand finds its way through his hair, tugging with abandon and his arm curls around her so that her breasts are pressed against his chest. Her teeth catch his bottom lip and he groans in to her mouth.

The sound quickly pulls him from her but he finds it impossible to move far. He has no idea what came over him but she’s flushed and breathing quick bursts of hot air against his neck. “I guess that makes us even, Inspector,” she says with an attempt of nonchalance but it’s strained and without her usual flirtation as her hand falls from his hair to his shoulder, her body still trapped under his.

His head is spinning and he’s aware he looks more than a little stunned but still makes to say something, anything until she grips his shoulder hard and murmurs against his ear, “Jones is planning something.”

He turns away from her just in time to catch Jones passing a thick envelope to a gentleman at the bar. Some vague recognition clicks in the back of mind as he struggles to clear his head of her “Isn’t that his brother he claimed to be estranged from?”

When he returns to look at her, she’s found her way back to her earlier position by his side, taking a long sip of her drink. “It certainly appears so, perhaps it would be a good idea to talk to the brother again?”

“I’ll have Collins to bring him in first thing tomorrow morning.” It’s a perfectly innocuous statement but now the air is filled with tension that he doesn’t want to acknowledge. She allows him to escort her home, quietly thrilled when he accepts her offer of a nightcap but he’s too quiet and knows he’s trying to find the words so she doesn’t push.

Her household is silent as they make their way in to her darkened parlour, everyone seemingly already in bed. She slips off her shoes to curl her legs underneath her as she drapes herself comfortably on the chaise. Jack grabs the two tumblers by the decanter that Phryne imagines Mr Butler set out just in case, grateful for the liquid courage. Their fingers brush as he hands her a glass but he retreats to his customary position of leaning against her fireplace.

“Phryne what on earth was that?” She wants to tease as though surely he should recognise a kiss when he sees it but it feels too raw to look too closely at it so she deflects.

“It was a distraction, Jones was looking in our direction for far too long and really it was nothing.” She gestures carelessly at him and watches as his face hardens and for a moment she’s sure he’s going to make his excuses and leave, wouldn’t dare to try and stop him if he did.

But he surprises her, as he constantly does and sets his glass down to step towards her “That was not nothing.” There’s an insistence in his voice as though he’s willing her to believe something she already knows but she can also hear the pure want.

She stands to move closer to him and isn’t this how this started but she didn’t expect him to kiss her back, especially not the way he did and he looks almost dishevelled without his customary three piece suit. It makes her want to unravel his tie with her teeth. “What was it then, Jack?”

She stresses his name in what she hopes is a challenge and he doesn't disappoint. Surging forward and kissing her, catching her off guard before she responds enthusiastically with almost something of a whimper as her heartrate quickens and she can feel lust thrumming through her veins. Her hand is gripping his side for dear life and his hand is in her hair and it’s all as easy as breathing to succumb to the heat of his mouth. Only when she’s breathless and wanting against his lips does he answer, “How about a beginning?”

It sounds oh so appealing but she’s suddenly hesitant, she normally doesn’t consider the aftermath of a dalliance but she wants more, Jack deserves more. She knows it would only be too easy to entice him in to her bed and she wants him, currently in whatever way she can have him. But she also wants him to really consider what she's offering, he's become one of her best friends and she's loathe to change that, “You need to be sure, Jack.”

“Then have dinner with me.” It’s an ordinary request but a meaningful one, he may be a more liberal man than he thinks but he still wants the chance to court her, it’s a little overwhelming but in the best possible way. She would never wish to be conventional but there's something infinitely exciting about the prospect of being wooed by Jack Robinson. 

“I’m afraid it might be a little late for dinner,” she offers, but her fingers are smoothing over his lapels and she finds it hard not to revert back to her usual attempts of flirting when he looks at her like that, adoration quietly hidden by amusement.

He sighs with fond exasperation and she laughs brightly as he continues undeterred. “Friday then, a murder notwithstanding.”

She beams up at him, noticing not for the first time their height difference without her shoes to compensate for. She also takes the time to adjust his tie that she may have dislodged in her haste to touch him and watch his eyes darken, really just taking an excuse to keep touching him. “That’s fairly hopeful.”

“It is, are you opposed?”

She presses her lips back to his, sweet and unassuming, running her thumb over his cheekbone, "Don't be ridiculous."

“I’ll take that as a no but I should still be going."

She concedes to his request tonight but promises herself she won’t be so relenting in the future and follows him to the door. “We burn daylight.” She isn’t sure if she means it as an incentive to hurry or just a statement of the fire that crawls under her skin and those that she wants to ignite in him. Tries to convey how desperately she waits to watch him fall apart in her bed.

He grins wickedly and she knows he understands, eyes lighting in appreciation so she knows he recognises the source and shakes his head before murmuring “I can say our future is distinctly brighter than that of Romeo and Juliet.”

She places his well loved fedora back on his head at her preferred rakish angle and states simply “I’m glad you think so.”

He kisses her cheek tenderly but slowly and brushes his fingertips down her neck as though trying to breathe her in, “Until tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> "We burn daylight" is of course from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet and "Until tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow" is taken with liberties from Macbeth. Thank you for reading!


End file.
